


The Tales of Scarlet Salem

by adventuregeek13



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Conflict Resolution, Gen, My First AO3 Post, maybe more tags later if i think of them idk, self-insert? in MY first published fanfic? it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuregeek13/pseuds/adventuregeek13
Summary: 5 times a nomadic rebel in red made their mark on the Zones and their residents, and 1 time someone else made their mark on the rebel in question, both just by being a good person.aka I'm new to Danger Days and I wanted to make an OC, and now they are basically just me with a cooler name and a hat. Also I wrote a whole story about them. In my many years of creative writing, this is the first fanfic I've actually posted online... ever. Thanks to @pidonyx for helping me navigate the fandom and giving me the confidence and inspiration to not only write this, but also publish it. I hope you all enjoy!
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1: The Talk of the Zones

**Author's Note:**

> So this is more of a prologue than a first chapter, but because this is a 5+1 fic I just made it chapter 1. It's very short, but chapter 2 coming soon. Enjoy!

_"Look alive, killjoys! We’ve got a special notice today for all you rebels and runners out there, brought to you by about a million rumors you may or may not have already heard. Word on the Getaway Mile has it that there’s a new star in the static, making themself known by way of either the smartest or the dumbest method there ever was: being nice to just about everyone._

_“There are whispers of a wanderer in red and white, ending firefights and brawls before they even start with just their kind words and a warm smile. Tales of a traveler who’d give everything in their Santa’s sack to help a fellow killjoy in need. Bringing good will and compassion wherever they go, supposedly not with the expectation of a reward, but simply out of the goodness of their little heart. It almost sounds unbelievable, but even I know a few who insist the legends are true._

_“An honest angel cake with tumbleweed tendencies? A silver-tongued honey bun, yet to start their kill count? Or just a dust trail stirred up in desolation and despair? No one knows for sure what the whole truth is when it comes to this one; if they’re a brand new batt out of hell or a regular compass rose, or if they even exist at all. I, for one, am delighted that us ‘joys have found ourselves our very own local cryptid. Whatever you might think of this campfire story character, there is one thing for sure. One common factor in all the truths and lies. Just like the rest of us, this nomad has a name._

_“The people call them…_

_“…Scarlet Salem.”_

The first track of the morning’s lineup kicked in as Dr. Death-Defying finished introducing the mysterious figure of Scarlet Salem to any listeners who hadn’t already heard of them. With that task completed, he leaned back in his chair and breathed in the dry air of the desert morning. The sound of roller skates moving in circles on the worn-out wooden floor was ever-present behind him.

“The one whose smile stopped a bullet,” Show Pony mused, quoting the words of the killjoy who’d convinced them that maybe, just maybe, the concept wasn’t so far-fetched. “You think this kid really exists?”

Dr. Death laughed as if he’d been told a joke that wasn’t so much funny as it was clever. “Hah. Maybe, maybe not. But the idea of someone like them… it gives people hope. A little hope never hurt anyone.”

He’d never admit it, but in reality? Dr. Death didn’t believe rumors, but he did believe Jet Star.


	2. A Lesson in Social Psychology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rebels from different gangs almost start a firefight. Then someone dares to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some choir puns! (Disclaimer: I was never in choir myself. I was, however, in orchestra on cello for 5 years, and I knew a lot of people in high school who were in classes of the choir variety, so I know a fair bit about music terminology.)

So, the Chaos Choir had a problem on their hands. Not a world-ending one, but one that was significant enough to send two of their members out looking for something that might function as cold relief meds. Those were pretty hard to find in the Zones, of all places, even on a good day. Not only that, but the members in question, including the 6’5” mass of heavy-hitting muscle known as Bass Boost and his right-hand markswoman Bari-Cuda, had run into something of a roadblock when they thought they had finally found the solution to the feverish plight of their absent leader, Valoratura. There were already multiple other killjoys at the vending machine they’d managed to track down, and these killjoys were not a part of their crew. They also did not look any more amused than Bass Boost and Bari-Cuda were upon the arrival of unfamiliar faces.

Two figures stood in front of the already-emptied machine, shooting menacing glares as if they owned the machine and the run-down convenience store behind it (although by the Zones’ standards, almost anything that wasn’t plant or rock in nature could be called run-down). One of them looked younger and quite lanky, with disheveled hair the color of the sand around him, and the other was an older, stockier figure with long, greying locks. She stepped forward at the same time Bass Boost strutted his way out of the Jeep and towards their adversaries. Bari-Cuda slinked her way out the door and sat on the hood, keeping one hand near the ray gun on her belt.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” said the older woman. She came to a stop and took a sturdy power stance. “This haul’s for the Riot Gears.”

“It’s there for all of us,” Bass Boost growled, copying the pose. “The boss needs her goods.”

“Oh, does she?” the woman responded in a mocking tone. She began to step closer and held her arms out wide, as if trying to look larger to scare away a roaming predator. “Well, I’m the Iron Fist, and I _am_ the boss. And I say you best get the hell outta here. Storm Magnet and I are taking the rest.” She nodded to the young man behind her, who nodded and crossed his arms.

Bass Boost didn’t budge. Bari-Cuda couldn’t see his face from her position, but she could tell by the crane of his neck that he was not taking this well.

Bari-Cuda got up and took a couple steps closer to the others. “Shame the rest of your crew ain’t here,” she taunted. “They might be able to advise you dickheads against toeing it with Bass Boost, or-“ she patted the holster of her pistol- “tempting my little friend here.”

“Is that a threat?” Storm Magnet called out. He made his way to the Iron Fist’s side. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I think that was a threat.”

“Do you want it to be?” Bari-Cuda snapped back, gripping the handle of the gun.

“Are you prepared for it to be?!” The Iron Fist yelled. She threw off her leather jacket and started cracking her fingers.

“Prepared to make you regret that,” Bass Boost threatened- _really_ threatened- as he did the same.

Bari-Cuda could feel her heart rushing. She’d been in firefights before, but she never got over the thrill and anticipation that came immediately beforehand. Preparing to fire her gun as soon as someone drew first blood, she dug her feet into the ground and stood fast.

Then the sound of the nearby building’s door creaking open drew Bari-Cuda’s attention. She spared a moment to look to her left, and standing in front of the building was a fifth figure, dressed in heavy black boots, cargo pants, and an unusual jacket. Something like denim, it appeared, with camouflage patterns of rusty red and tan like ashwood, lightly bleached by the sun but still notable. Underneath was a white tank top, and- was that a college icon?

Their face was covered by a smoke-colored bandana and wine red sunglasses, and little of their hair was visible from a distance due to the beat-up leather hat obscuring it, adorned with what appeared to be paper flowers. Before Bari-Cuda could process the impulse to tell them to bug off, they pulled the bandana down to their neck and removed the glasses, and then Bari-Cuda heard what was probably the most absurd question she’d ever been asked in her life-

“Am I interrupting something?”

* * *

Scarlet Salem had just finished bartering for food and was leaving the building when they encountered the stand-off. From the body language of both parties and the hostility their interaction emanated, Scarlet Salem knew that this would turn into a firefight if these people were left to their devices. That could mean damage to the store, possible injury for anyone still inside, and in the worst case scenario, the aggravators could get themselves killed for no good reason.

Luckily, Scarlet Salem knew what to do.

Conflict resolution was something they had practiced and executed time and time again in the past several years. They understood how these situations worked and how to turn them around. There was a four-step process they knew like the back of their hand, and if it worked this time as well as it always had, no one here would be getting dusted today.

They pulled down the bandana that protected their nose and mouth from desert dust, and lifted up the sunglasses that shielded their eyes from the brutal sun. Time to go to work.

_Step one: Intervention._

“Am I interrupting something?” they called as they exited the building. They stopped a good distance away from the group, 30 or 40 feet, far enough that they could run back to take cover if need be but close enough that their voice would carry and be understood.

All four participants suddenly stopped and turned to look at Scarlet Salem. They looked more or less like they had just been slapped; a mixture of bewilderment and frustration.

“What’s it to you, pipsqueak?” retorted the burly roughhouser who was about to square off with an intimidating older woman.

“Yeah, get lost,” the woman spat back at Scarlet, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “This is our business.”

Scarlet nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay, I can see this isn’t a great time. Just wanted to make sure no one was going to get hurt.”

A younger, smaller woman standing a short ways behind her much beefier partner looked a little bit taken aback. The hand gripping the handle of her gun relaxed. “You… wanted to make sure… that no one was going to get hurt. Did- Did I hear that right?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, one, this isn’t really the safest location to get into a fight, and two, I know this argument wasn’t happening when I walked in here like, ten minutes ago. Seems kind of silly to start shooting or punching or whatever without at least trying to talk it out first.”

The old woman scoffed. “Talk it out. Can you believe this?” She looked to her opponent and grinned in disbelief. Good, they’d been distracted from their argument enough to start calming down. Scarlet was more than willing to be the mutual object of ridicule if it meant that there wasn’t going to be a firefight.

_Step two: Mediation._

Scarlet Salem kept a casual, non-threatening stance as they stepped forward a few feet. “Talk it out. Trust me, it’s a lot more satisfying than getting beat up over something that probably could have been resolved without violence.” The way they phrased their next question was the most crucial part; Scarlet did not want to get shot because they accidentally came off as condescending. “What’s making you guys upset, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

After an extended and rather awkward silence, a young man standing next to the old woman sighed. “There’s not much left in the vending machine. Me- I’m Storm Magnet- me and the Iron Fist here want the rest of it, but so do these guys.”

The young woman piped up. “Never said we wanted the rest of it. Just that y’all can’t take the whole thing for yourselves. Other people need that shit, too.”

“But we were here first!” the old woman, presumably the Iron Fist, snapped. “Finders keepers.”

Scarlet resisted the urge to roll their eyes. “Okay, so you guys-“ they gestured to Storm Magnet and the Iron Fist- “got here first, and you planned to take the supplies. Then these guys- sorry, I didn’t get your names?”

The beefy one nodded. “I’m Bass Boost. This is Bari-Cuda.”

“Good to know. Thanks. So, you guys showed up just now, and there’s something you need that they’ve already claimed. Does that sound right?”

Silence again. The Iron Fist shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Okay. Makes sense.” Scarlet pressed their fingers together in front of their face and thought for a moment. “Can I ask what it is you’re looking for? There might be some in the store here.”

Bari-Cuda and Bass Boost looked at each other. “Our boss, Valoratura,” Bari-Cuda said, “she’s sick. We don’t think it’s anything serious, but we’re supposed to head down to Zone 2 in a few days to meet with some friends, and Valoratura does _not_ want to mess up her reputation. So we’ve been looking for cold meds.”

“Painkillers, congestion stuff, you know the gist,” Bass Boost suggested. “See anything like that inside?”

Admittedly, Scarlet didn’t know of any of those things in the store. “No, not that I saw. At least not today. But if there’s some in the vending machine, why don’t you just split the supplies?”

_Step three: Compromise._

Oddly enough, the Iron Fist looked at Scarlet Salem like they were speaking a foreign language. “Split the- we got here first!”

“Well, yes, but do you really need all of this? If you can spare something you don’t actually need for someone who does, then it just makes sense, you know what I mean?” Scarlet wasn’t sure if the empathy card would work on this lady, but it was worth a shot. “Besides, this is a human being you’re talking about. A fellow killjoy. We’re in this together, like it or not.”

While the Iron Fist grumbled something rude under her breath, Storm Magnet seemed to receive the message better. Maybe it was that he was younger, or just more receptive to negotiation, but it was working.

He nudged the Iron Fist lightly with his elbow. “Hey, maybe they’re right. It’s not like any of our guys are sick. And if something does happen, we can just come back later and check in the store.” He looked to Bass Boost and Bari-Cuda with a gentle expression. “These people have a friend in need.”

Scarlet smiled, directing it right at Storm Magnet for a moment for positive reinforcement. They then looked to the Iron Fist. “Does that sound fair to you, ma’am?”

That was a trick that Scarlet Salem had learned in childhood. People usually responded well to respectful, albeit old-fashioned, forms of address like “sir” and “ma’am,” especially if they were older. To no surprise, it worked with the Iron Fist, too. She looked back at Scarlet Salem as soon as the word left their mouth, and she seemed to be calm down a little more. Every bit was progress.

After a long, heavy moment, the Iron Fist sighed. “Fuck it. Yeah, take whatever you need. Not like we can’t find more of it somewhere else in this hellhole.”

Before either of the two on the other side of the argument could push their luck, Scarlet gave them an ever-so-slightly pointed look. “Is that acceptable for you two?”

As Bass Boost took a thoughtful stance, Scarlet caught Bari-Cuda rolling her eyes, and it told them that Bass Boost was probably just being dramatic. He was, however, smart enough to not hold the impression for so long that it would reignite the argument. “Yes. I accept. Bari?”

Bari-Cuda huffed a laugh at the uncharacteristically official tone of her companion. “I accept,” she parroted in an even more exaggerated manner.

When the two of them began to snicker at their shenanigans, and Storm Magnet followed suit, Scarlet Salem knew that their work here was nearly done.

_Step four: Resolution._

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Scarlet remarked, now openly smiling and walking closer. “I know times are tough, but diplomacy didn’t die with California.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the Iron Fist muttered. She slung off her backpack and started to dig through it for the medication. “Who knows if this stuff will even work, but by all means, give it a shot.”

Once the hand-off had been completed, the Iron Fist made a small salute and wordlessly walked back to one of the two nearby cars. Storm Magnet stayed for a moment to shake Bass Boost’s hand, then Scarlet Salem’s.

“Take care,” he said, the same gentle face returning. “I hope your boss gets well soon.”

“Much appreciated,” Bass Boost responded with a nod. “See you around.”

Scarlet Salem always, _always,_ stayed until one of the parties had well and truly left, just in case someone got any funny ideas and started shooting as soon as Scarlet had turned around (they’d made that mistake only one time, and it was one time too many). Once the Iron Fist and Storm Magnet were small enough on the horizon that Scarlet Salem felt confident they wouldn’t return, they turned to face Bass Boost and Bari-Cuda.

“You guys are okay? Good to go?” they asked, just for good measure. It never hurt to double check.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Bass Boost responded. “Thanks for, you know, doing all that. And sorry for making fun of you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It happens. I’m just glad nobody got hurt. Although, I am also a bit concerned about exactly how effective Batt City meds are going to be, so just as insurance…” Scarlet dropped their burlap backpack onto the ground and opened one of the side pockets. After rifling through the contents, they retrieved a small bottle of oblong orange pills and held it out to Bari-Cuda.

The young woman took it and inspected it for a moment. Then her eyes blew wide. “Is this ibuprofen? Where the hell did you get this?!”

Scarlet chuckled at the outburst. “Some lady in Zone 5 gave it to me as thanks for fixing her tire. Don’t ask me where she got it, she wouldn’t tell me. Not really official cold meds, but it should help with any aches or soreness, and it might take the fever down a little.”

Bari-Cuda looked back at Scarlet Salem in awe. “Thank you. You’re too kind. Like, really. You’re gonna get yourself ghosted like that.”

“Well, at least I’ll die in good memory,” Scarlet said, only half-joking. They knew their system was unconventional, and even a little dangerous. But they had their reasons, and those reasons made it worth the effort.

Bass Boost shook his head. “Well, we should get back to the boss. This’ll be quite the story to tell.”

“Tell her I said hi,” Scarlet remarked. They picked their bag back up and adjusted the straps on their shoulders, taking a few steps backwards and giving a small wave. “Take care of yourselves. It was nice to meet you!”

“You, too,” Bari-Cuda responded, waving back. She and Bass Boost climbed back into the Jeep, and Scarlet turned and began to walk down the road in the other direction. Then they heard Bari-Cuda call, “Wait, I forgot!”

Scarlet turned back as they put their sunglasses back on and grabbed their bandana. “What is it?”

“Your name! What’s your name?”

Finally. The kicker. Scarlet gave their most nonchalant smile, and in the knowledge that someone out there had somehow convinced Dr. Death-Defying himself to cover a certain new celebrity, they ended the interaction in the most smugly casual way they could manage.

“I’m Scarlet Salem.”

And they started walking.

* * *

Bari-Cuda and Bass Boost both had to take a second to register what this person had just said.

_“I’m Scarlet Salem.”_

Wh–

No. It couldn’t be.

Scarlet Salem wasn’t real. People living in the Zones weren’t just unconditionally nice and compassionate. No one without a death wish was that idiotic.

But this person matched the descriptions. What they’d just done, it was just like what Dr. Death-Defying had said on the radio a few weeks ago, not to mention all the rumors that were going around. Was it really possible? Did the one whose laugh could calm a man gone cage mad really exist?

Bari-Cuda blinked and finally realized that the impromptu counselor was walking away. On the back of their colorful camo jacket, there was a symbol- unmistakably that of a killjoy. Line art of a dove, embroidered with black thread, filled in with white that faded into red at the tips of the wings and tail. A tried-and-true symbol of peace, with the twist of someone who’d been just as royally fucked over by B.L.I. as anyone else.

As evidence would suggest, the existence of such a figure wasn’t impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bass Boost = Bass, obviously  
> Bari-Cuda = Baritone (between bass and tenor, for those who don’t know)  
> Valoratura = Coloratura, which is like. The soprano to end all sopranos. The range. The speed. The lung capacity. You cannot handle the vocal badassery of coloratura sopranos. Go listen to the “Queen of the Night” aria from The Magic Flute if you want an example.  
> Thanks again for reading! Feel free to comment and give kudos, or don’t, you do what works for you. Although comments would be very much appreciated.


	3. The Scarlet Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarlet Salem encounters a radio star and ends up doing an impromptu interview. DJ Cherri Cola shares a nomad’s wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinion time: Is staying positive and kind during the apocalypse a useful survival tactic, a coping mechanism, or just flat out denial? Feel free to ponder while you enjoy this chapter!

Something really strange had started happening to Scarlet Salem as of late, and they had no idea who was to blame.

At some point, probably after one of Scarlet Salem’s benevolent escapades, somebody had passed along a mention about the bloodied dove on the back of their jacket. Specifically, they had passed it along a channel that somehow reached Dr. Death-Defying. Again. And for about two weeks now, ever since the guy went out of his way to describe the symbol in semi-accurate detail (some of the specifics had gotten lost in the long-range, high-risk game of Telephone), about half of the people Scarlet Salem ever talked to would see the symbol, look thoughtful for a moment, then go, “You’re Scarlet Salem!”

So much for being the killjoys’ very own cryptid.

At first, it had been funny to think of themself as the Zones’ new celebrity, a person who everyone questioned the existence and legitimacy of. The opportunities to prove that yes, Scarlet Salem was real and here to help, gave them a sort of satisfaction they hadn’t really experienced before. Now there were more and more people recognizing them, asking too many questions and poking fun at them for being “soft” or “naïve.” They weren’t soft, and they definitely weren’t naïve. They’d seen just as much unbridled horror as anybody else who spent their time out here, and they had their fair share of personal shit to be angry about, too.

They just didn’t see a point in making all that anger a problem for other people who had nothing to do with it. That energy was much better spent on relieving some of the suffering that was happening because of it. Being a figure of respite within all the turmoil.

 ~~Staying off of Better Living Industries’ hit list~~ Making small, positive changes where they were able to rather than raising havoc where they didn’t need to.

Of course, most killjoys weren’t fluent in Pacifist. Scarlet Salem couldn’t blame them. Not because Scarlet Salem was all that wise or patient, but because they weren’t stupid. They were, however, a little bit isolated from the rest of the crowd, which made for a lonely livelihood.

Said livelihood currently had them trekking towards the bottom of an overhanging cliff as sundown was fast approaching. They needed to camp for the night, and they didn’t want to do it so out in the open, but they’d overestimated how fast they could move in a day with the pulled muscle they’d acquired the previous evening. Thank goodness for their trusty hiking pole, which they affectionately referred to as The Stick, but their right leg still hurt like hell. What they wouldn’t give to still have that ibuprofen, or at the very least an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Right now, all they could do was use their jacket as a sort of compression wrap and try not to let the impending nighttime chill bother them too much through their tank top.

And because the forces of the universe or whatever just wanted to mess with Scarlet Salem specifically this week, it was at the very moment they made that wish when, as Scarlet was shuffling their way down a short slope of boulders, some loose gravel gave out under their heel. Trying to right themself in such a position was hopeless, and the result was like the outdoors equivalent of falling down the stairs. The startled and exasperated yelp they emitted did not help them feel any better about the situation.

Once their tumble had come to a rest on the flat, dusty ground, they took a moment to get their bearings. Needless to say, their leg hurt even more, not to mention the bruises-to-be on their lower back and shoulders. Nice of The Stick’s wrist strap to have stayed on their hand. Where was their hat?

Scarlet Salem simply lay there breathing for a few minutes after the fact. They’d pick themself up once they didn’t feel like kicking something.

“Are you okay?”

Ah.

Someone had heard that. The voice had come from a bit of a distance, but the fall had not been a quiet one. At least whoever happened to be nearby had the courtesy to not rub salt in the wound… yet.

Scarlet sighed deeply and pulled down their bandanna. “I’m not hurt,” they yelled back. “Well, I am hurt, but that’s unrelated. I’m not hurt any more than I already was.”

The next few moments produced no reply. Just as Scarlet Salem was about to call out to ask who they were talking to, they heard the impact of two feet hitting the dirt a ways to their right. They looked, and from another wall of boulders, the source of the question had climbed over to investigate. It was a young man, not incredibly tall or broad but carrying enough muscle that he could handle himself. Brunette hair, army jacket, sturdy jeans, and a bright pink mask that clashed violently with the rest of his appearance. Scarlet didn’t wear a mask due to their preference for sunglasses, but the thought crossed their mind, _even I could do better than that._

Scarlet gave a half-assed wave. “So, how’s your night going?” they asked, only half-joking.

The man laughed and replied, “I’m alright. You seem a bit disturbed.” The sarcasm was strong in this one.

“Yeah, well, falling down a bunch of rocks will do that to you.” Finally, Scarlet pushed themselves into a sitting position and inspected themself for injuries. Other than some scrapes on their arms and the aforementioned bruises, nothing looked damaged. They saw their hat lying upside-down in front of them and pointedly ignored the rebelling of their leg when they reached to pick it up and dust it off.

The man reached Scarlet and held out a hand for assistance. “Rough day, huh?” He now seemed more genuinely concerned than deprecatingly so.

“You said it,” Scarlet sighed, reaching for the hand and allowing the man to pull them to their feet. They had to shift most of it to their left and put the rest on The Stick, but they managed. “Thanks for checking in. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He then noticed how Scarlet Salem was holding their right leg in a pained position. “Are you sure you’re okay? That leg doesn’t look too good.”

“You’re not wrong.” Scarlet Salem reached down to adjust the way their jacket was wrapped on it. “Pulled a muscle yesterday. I think maybe it was the soleus? Whatever it was, it definitely needs more attention than I can give it myself, but it’s kind of hard to get anywhere. Let alone to the nearest settlement I know of that _might_ have some help around.”

“Yikes.” The man winced and continued to observe the covered injury. “I mean, I think I’ve got some real bandages in my truck that would work better than a jacket, but I can't imagine the thought of following a man you’ve never met to a truck in the middle of nowhere seems like a good idea.”

That made Scarlet laugh, despite everything. Something about this person seemed more trustworthy than most. “In a normal situation, yeah, I’d shut you down. But you did come help me instead of just robbing me immediately while I was vulnerable, so maybe you’re not the worst. Also, what is a normal situation in the Zones?”

“Ha!” The man gave a surprised chuckle, then held out his hand again. “I’m Cherri Cola. Good to meet you.”

In a split second, Scarlet Salem went through a moment of realization, then shock, then excitement. They remembered listening to the nighttime Poetry Corner hosted by DJ Cherri Cola, before they had lost their handheld radio some months back. This was _him?_

“Wait, like the DJ?” Scarlet Salem asked, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “That’s awesome! I used to listen to your poetry all the time!” They grinned brightly and removed their sunglasses, letting go of his hand before it got awkward. “Speaking of unbelievable meetings, would you believe me if I told you I’m Scarlet Salem?”

Cherri Cola froze for a moment. He took off his mask and looked at the jacket once again, examining the partly-visible symbol of the bloodied dove. After several seconds of bewildered silence, his eyes went wide, and then they were meeting Scarlet’s.

“Oh, my God. You’re Scarlet Salem.”

* * *

An hour later, Scarlet Salem was sitting on the cargo bed of Cherri Cola’s pickup truck, nursing a bottle of water and finally resting their strained leg. To their left was Cherri Cola himself, who had been kind enough to properly wrap the swollen area. Now that Scarlet Salem was actually wearing their jacket again, it was clearer than ever who they were, and the radio host next to them was not subtle about his excitement.

“See, I had a feeling that at least some of the rumors had merit,” he mentioned as they watched the sun make contact with the horizon. “Sometimes, things seem to good to be true, but other times, they’re too good not to be. You know what I mean?”

Scarlet Salem absolutely did not. “For sure. So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“Oh, you know.” Cherri Cola paused to take a sip of nearly expired beer. “Exploring. Looking for inspiration.”

“Hm.” Scarlet looked at their hands. “Have you found it yet?”

“I think I found some, yeah.” The smile in Cherri’s voice was audible.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” Scarlet muttered with poorly-hidden amusement. They looked back up, feeling a little less awkward. “So, how much is what you expected, and how much is different?”

Cherri Cola pondered the question for a moment. “Well, I expected the dove. It looks a little different from how I imagined, but not far off. And I knew you wear a lot of red. Didn’t expect the cowboy hat, or the Pokémon trainer backpack.”

“Cowboy hat?!” Scarlet exclaimed with false offense and an incredulous smile. “You’re lucky the Pokémon joke was funny. I would’ve whacked you with The Stick.”

“The Stick?”

Scarlet Salem gestured to the hiking pole at their side. “The Stick. Retractable hiking pole. I used to go hiking a lot, and I brought it with me when I had to book it out of Batt City.” They took a long drink. “It’s practical for wandering around the desert, and if I need a weapon, it can bludgeon on one end and stab with the other.”

Cherri looked perplexed. “Why not just use a gun?”

Immediately, Scarlet pictured the small pistol they had concealed on a strap around their left shin. “I don’t really like guns. Which I know sounds kind of ridiculous, but like… it’s kind of a personal issue, you know? Past trauma and all that.” They considered how much they wanted to tell Cherri Cola, who could easily blab on the radio, or to Dr. Death-Defying. “I have a gun, in case I ever really need it, but I try my best not to need it.”

“Seems reasonable.” Cherri dropped the topic, which brought Scarlet considerable relief. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“I mean, you’ve already asked me a whole bunch, but sure.”

Cherri Cola rolled his eyes. “A serious question.” He paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to phrase his next sentence. “Can I interview you?”

Scarlet Salem blinked. “Huh?”

“I want to do an interview with you. You don’t have to accept, it’s up to you, but I think it would be really fascinating for everyone to hear from _the_ Scarlet Salem themself.” Cherri took another drink and shifted in his seat to face Scarlet more directly. “Nothing too complicated. I would just ask you some questions, record the conversation as much as you’re comfortable with, and in a couple days when Poetry Corner happens, I’ll put the recording on air. How does that sound?”

That was… a lot. Scarlet Salem hadn’t really done any public speaking or other kinds of performance in at least five or six years. Plus, openly associating their namesake with those of DJ Cherri Cola and Dr. Death-Defying would be throwing even more fuel on the fire that they had been trying their best to contain. On the other hand, Cherri had a point. It could convince people that Scarlet Salem’s modus operandi had its legitimacy, rather than allow it to be passed off as a hopeless cause.

Cherri Cola continued to stare at them questioningly. Scarlet Salem had two options.

  1. Refuse the interview. Uphold what was left of their mystique. Retain that “I proved you wrong” satisfaction. Risk letting their name be run into the ground by rumormongers. Keep their voice a secret, but also keep their voice nonexistent to those who might need it most.
  2. Do the interview. Demolish their former invisibility. Subject themself to more comments about being a try-hard. Let the people who actually wanted them around hear from them personally. Step out of the shadows that kept them away from enemies, but also step out of the shadows that kept them away from everyone else.



They debated in their head for a moment. “If I do this,” they started, “will you give me a ride to somewhere I can get some help for my leg tomorrow?”

Cherri Cola rolled his eyes. “Well, I was going to do that anyway. Can’t just leave you out here to hobble who-knows-how-far. But sure, if those are your terms.”

Scarlet Salem was still a little on the fence, but deep down, the offer was tempting. Everyone who listened to WKIL 109 FMX knew about the bloodied dove already. They might as well go all the way.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.” They took a breath. “I mean, it’s not like I’m in a rush until morning, so might as well.”

Cherri Cola practically jumped up and hurried to the front of the car to retrieve a tape recorder from inside. Scarlet Salem wondered briefly if they were falling into some kind of clever manipulation set by Dr. Death-Defying to get more information about them for his show. _Stop overthinking,_ their internal narrative scolded.

They didn’t stop overthinking.

* * *

Two days later, after Scarlet Salem had been safely delivered to their destination and Cherri Cola had departed for his own, they tuned into the Poetry Corner. They knew before anyone else that it would be a little different that night.

* * *

_“Thank you for joining me for Poetry Corner tonight, fellow killjoys. Before we all tune out for the night, I’ve got an extra segment that we’ve never done before. A few nights ago, I happened across a special someone. If you’ve been keeping up with the news, you may have heard of them recently. I had the great fortune of getting to talk to them for a while, and they graciously allowed me to do a little interview. So, without further ado, let’s get to know the brave soul behind the bleeding dove… Scarlet Salem.”_

_Cherri Cola: It’s a beautiful night in the desert, and I’m here with the one and only Scarlet Salem. How are you doing tonight?_

_Scarlet Salem: I’m good! I mean, my leg still hurts from my little mishap yesterday, but hopefully I can get that taken care of soon. Other than that, I’m alright. How are you?_

_CC: I gotta say, I’m excited to be in such popular company._

_SS: Aw, thanks. I’m glad to be here._

_CC: So, Scarlet Salem, tell us a bit about yourself._

_SS: Well, let’s see... Okay, so obviously I go by Scarlet Salem, or just Scarlet for short. I’m 27 years old, I use they/them pronouns... Man, I really don’t know what else to say. I’m a cat person? Heh._

_CC: Well, why don’t we start with a question that I’m sure isn’t just on my mind: what inspired you to do what you do? What is your thought process in how you operate?_

_SS: Oof, opening with the big guns. Depends on what you mean by “what I do.” If you’re talking about just helping people, then like… I just like to help people, you know? I always have. And there’s a lot of people out here who need help, in some way or another. Whether it’s because they’re injured, or lonely, or angry, everybody needs a helping hand sometimes. I’m always happy to offer that hand._

_CC: What about stopping firefights between killjoys? I’ve heard quite a bit about that._

_SS: Ah, yeah. That actually comes from some of the stuff I wanted to do before, you know, shit hit the fan. I was working towards being some kind of therapist or social worker, and one of the things I had to study was like, the psychology of anger and conflict. All that stuff really stuck in my head for some reason, and I ended up getting really good at conflict resolution. So now I try to use that knowledge to sort of cool down those firefight situations before people get themselves or someone else hurt over something that could have been talked out._

_CC: I imagine some people aren’t a huge fan of that. How do you handle it if it gets to a point where you might not be able to do anything?_

_SS: I mean, if people just refuse to be civil and it escalates into a situation where_ I _might get hurt, I try to remove myself before that happens. I’m always happy to mediate, but I’d rather accept it when there’s nothing I can do than get ghosted._

_CC: That’s smart. You’ve clearly got it figured out pretty well._

_SS: Meh. I do my best._

_CC: Let’s talk about this kind of nomadic lifestyle you’ve got going on. I can be a bit of a loner myself sometimes, but you’ve proven yourself to be quite a social butterfly. Why wander around by yourself?_

_SS: There’s, uh, there’s a few reasons. But the one that comes to mind first is that I’ve never really found a crew I really mesh with. I like to talk to people, I like to make friends, but I’m not a fighter like most of the gangs out here are. I totally respect them, I think they’re doing some really cool work. It’s just not my speed. And I haven’t met anyone yet who wants to start a crew out of being like, the clerics of the Zones, you know?_

_CC: Right, makes sense. Sometimes it’s easier to work alone._

_SS: A bit, yeah. It gets kind of lonely some days, but I can manage._

_CC: How long have you been walking around the Zones, anyway? How long have you called yourself a killjoy?_

_SS: Huh. Well, I’ve been in the Zones almost since they became the Zones. I grew up in Battery City before it was Battery City. Back when it was still, you know, human. I was 20 years old then, I’d just gotten my associate’s degree, I had goals and stuff. Then B.L.I. happened, which kind of upended the whole thing. And once the Helium Wars hit, I got the hell out of there the first chance- no, that’s a lie, the second chance I got. I was holding onto this hope at first that maybe things would turn around, but once I realized that wasn’t going to happen for a while yet, I was like, “Okay, time to beat it while I still can.” That was back in… 2014, it would’ve been. And, uh, yeah, I’ve kind of just been wandering ever since._

_I don’t think I really saw myself as a killjoy until a while later, though. I... I hate having to hurt people. I don’t like violence or death. And I know that’s just a reality out here these days, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less. I remember very vividly the first time I ever had to kill a Drac. It was a little less than six months after I’d made it out of the city. I was 22. It was awful. I think I cried for days. But once I was done crying, and mourning the person who’d tried to take my life, I kind of had this moment of clarity. Like maybe I could do some good out here. Maybe I could make a difference and not just be another person trying not to die. And I think that was the day I became a killjoy. Not a killjoy in the traditional sense, but a killjoy, nonetheless._

_CC: Same principles._

_SS: Exactly. Like, I deserve better than this. We deserve better. I’m not going to stop living my life as long as it’s still in my hands._

_CC: What do you mean by that? Elaborate on “we deserve better,” if you don’t mind._

_SS: Huh. Okay, give me a second to kind of get my thoughts together. I have a lot of feelings about this._

_CC: Of course. Take your time._

_SS:_ … _We all deserve freedom. We all deserve autonomy. We all deserve to choose where we go and what we do and how we inevitably crash and burn. We deserve no presumptions of who we are, no expectations to fill roles we didn’t sign up for. And when we die, we deserve to die screaming and crying, not from fear, but with joy. Joy that we got to live our lives the way we wanted to, even if only for a little while. Joy that we could accept ourselves, flaws and regrets and all, and do something worthwhile before we go back to dust._

_That’s why I do this. That’s why I refuse to succumb to anger and hate. Am I angry at B.L.I.? Yes, immensely. Do I hate B.L.I.? Yes, with a burning passion. The horrible things they’ve done have stolen everything I ever had planned for my future. But I won’t let that rage control me. Am I devastated because what of B.L.I. has taken from me? I lie awake at night thinking of what I could have had. Do I miss how things used to be before B.L.I.? I wish every day that I could go back and say goodbye to everyone I didn’t know I’d never see again. But that grief is not going to dictate how I go forward._

_Fury and vengefulness are powerful feelings, and maybe for some, that’s how you get shit done. But I know myself. I know that if I let myself give into the darkness, I would never come back out. So I choose to resist. I choose to stay in the light. I choose to be optimistic and hopeful, even if it might get me shot someday. I choose to do good recklessly and “be nice to just about everyone” not because I expect anything in return, not because I think it’s any better or worse than other people’s lifestyles, not because I have a pure golden heart, but because_ it’s the right thing to do.

 _You can call me stupid or weak all you want, I’ve taken worse. But words like that, they’re not going to change anything. They’re not going to make your day better. Those words are just dead energy. They help nobody, including yourself. You want to know how to help? Make. Your words. Count. Every word you say could be your last, so make. Them. Count. Be kind and considerate just because you can. Tell your friends and family, whether they’re still with you or not, that you love them. Establish open and honest communication with your crew if you roll with one. Speak your mind, and don’t let anyone talk over you. Say “thank you” instead of “sorry.” Own it when you’ve wronged someone. Stand up for yourself when you’ve been wronged. Ask questions. Infodump. Tell jokes. Sing. Use your words for good and for progress, however you can. Those kinds of words can be more powerful than any weapon. Those kinds of words_ can _change the world._

_You don’t need guns or knives to prove that you’re strong. Strength is in humility. Strength is in mercy. Strength is in the human capacity to love._

_CC: …That was… wow. That was powerful. Are- Are you okay?_

_[A long pause in conversation, filled in by the sounds of crickets and stifled tears.]_

_SS: Sorry about that._

_CC: It’s alright. I’m just really glad I got to hear it in person. You have a very unique perspective. I’m surprised it took this long for everyone to hear about you._

_SS: I get that a lot. Ha. Yeah, right before I ran into you, I was kind of thinking about how like… At first, I was mad that everybody was talking about me all of a sudden. I was disappointed that people were suddenly recognizing me on sight just because Dr. Death-Defying went and said a bunch of things about my jacket. I don’t know. Also, this is not an attack on Dr. Death. [Both laugh.] I am a fan of the channel and I really appreciate what he does. It was just such an adjustment because now people aren’t just recognizing me. They already have ideas about who I am and what I do. Both positive ones and negative ones._

_CC: Right. Not everyone has a lot of hope for… well, hope._

_SS: Exactly. But now that I’m kind of getting it all out there, I’m glad I’m doing this. There’s a voice to the name now. Makes me a little more… tangible, I guess, for people who still don’t know me._

_CC: Do you think that’s important now that people now about you? To have something real to attach the name to?_

_SS: Hm… I mean, I’m willing to bet that there are people out there who I haven’t met yet, but they’re waiting for me. And to all those people, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to reach you before. But as long as my legs are moving and my lungs are working, I’ll still be roaming. And I’ll be there with you someday. Can’t promise exactly when, but someday, I’ll be there to help however I can._

_CC: Well said. Well, it’s starting to get pretty dark, and I’m starting to get pretty tired._

_SS: Yeah. Might be a good stopping place._

_CC: Thank you for talking with me, Scarlet Salem. It’s been a real pleasure._

_SS: Thank you for having me. I really appreciate it._

_CC: Any last remarks or thoughts?_

_SS: Hm… Oh. Okay, this might be a long shot, but there’s a specific person I want to kind of shout out to, I guess. Can I do that?_

_CC: Go for it._

_SS: Okay. Not going to name names, because he probably has a different name now, but he’ll know if he’s listening. So… Hi, kid. You came and sat with me on the train when we were escaping the city. We were both kind of at our lowest, didn’t have a lot going for us, but you still came and told me you liked my weird hair. I don’t know where you are today, how you’re doing, hell, I don’t know if you’re even still alive. I sure hope you are. Anyway, if you’re listening, I just want to tell you that that conversation really meant a lot to me. You gave me the motivation I needed to keep going. You became the person that no matter what, I could not let down._ You _gave_ me _hope, before I started giving anything to the Zones. And I just hope you know how grateful I am for all of that. I don’t think I’d be here if it weren’t for you._

_Also, I still remember how to make the paper flowers like you taught me. I leave them in random places sometimes, so if you ever find one… you know who’s been around._

_CC: Very nice. Thank you again. And to all you lovely listeners out there, I hope you’ve taken something valuable from the words of our friend Scarlet Salem. Goodnight, everyone._

* * *

Far away in a not-so-abandoned diner, a fabulous killjoy held a dusty paper flower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me some grief for a bit, especially with my first week of classes giving me even more grief, but I ultimately had fun with it. I hope you all did, too.


End file.
